Chapter 22
Magnus said nothing as he led the way down the hallway.
“Ye walk in front of yer Laird now instead of by his side?” Hunter remarked.
Magnus glanced briefly over his shoulder, reddened, and slowed his pace. “Apologies, me Laird.”
“Ye are angry. I assume it has something to do with last night’s announcement. And me vow.”
Magnus’s shoulders tensed at the mention of the vow, and Hunter bit back a sigh.
“Come now, old friend, ye arenae going to turn on me, are ye?”
“Of course nae, me Laird,” Magnus answered instantly. “How long did ye ken about the child?”
“It’s recent, very recent. I was shocked.”
“So, what happens now?”
“I guess we’ll find out after this council meeting,” Hunter muttered grimly. “Best to get it over with.”
They reached the Great Hall. The council chambers were at the very end, beyond a small, discreet door that was half-hidden behind a tapestry.
Some lairds displayed their council chambers proudly, as if they wanted the world to see how many advisors they kept, how many souvenirs and gifts they could display.
Not Hunter. The council chambers were something else entirely. A secret room, a war room, to be kept hidden. The sort of room that wasn’t easy to eavesdrop on. A room where hard decisions were made.
He eyed the door, feeling a rush of anxiety. He wasn’t used to feeling so anxious. After all, the councilmen might be vital stars to light up the sky, but he was the sun they orbited.
“Me Laird?” Magnus prompted. “If ye daenae want to have the meeting today, I can talk to them. We can reschedule.”
Hunter gave a tight smile. “Kind of ye to offer, but nay. Better get this over with, eh?”
Magnus didn’t smile. “Try and look repentant, me Laird. They’ll be looking for that. Repentance.”
What was that supposed to mean?
Hunter thought about questioning his man-at-arms, but decided against it. Like he said, best to get it over with.
Striding toward the door, he squared his shoulders and arranged his face into a neutral expression. His councilmen were good men who had the interests of the clan at heart. But he also knew that they had agendas. All councilmen did.
It was impossible to be a councilman, an advisor of any sort, without having something secret you wanted for yourself, something that you tried to make happen without letting anyone else know.
Good men had half-decent agendas. Bad men had vile ones.
Hunter congratulated himself on appointing mostly good men to his council.
Mostly.
He didn’t stop to knock on the door. That was too deferential, like a penitent coming to ask for something. Or worse, a guilty man. He was the Laird; looks were everything.
Pushing open the door, he strode inside.
The councilmen were all there, arranged around the table in a half-circle, leaning in toward each other and whispering.
The whispering stopped when he stepped into the room.
“Good day to ye, men,” he greeted.
His chair waited at the head of the table, empty. He didn’t immediately take it. Instead, he walked around the room, glancing from face to face.
They all stayed silent, waiting for him to talk first. That was good. It was his right to speak first and lead the meeting. Anybody who tried to take his place would have hopes of leadership in mind.
“So,” he said shortly. “Ye all have heard of me impending marriage, aye? I will go ahead and say what is on everybody’s minds: ye are concerned about me vow.”
Murmurs rose from the table. Long looks were exchanged.
“It’s true, me Laird,” spoke up Peter Tatterhall, a scrawny, bald man with a face like a turtle. “We here all ken that ye swore a vow never to wed or sire children again. And now, if the rumors are to be believed, ye have a five-year-old daughter and plan to wed her mother.”
“Now, we daenae ken that is true,” another man chipped in. His name was Donald, a fiercely bearded middle-aged man who’d made a fortune in fabric trading. “Are we listening to gossip now?”
“I’ll nae lie to ye,” Hunter said firmly. “Willow is me child. Daphne is her mother, and we’re going to wed. These are the facts.”
The table fell silent.
With a gentle thunk, Magnus pushed the door shut and stood in front of it. Hands clasped, shoulders squared, his face remained grim, never quite meeting Hunter’s eyes.
He’s disappointed, Hunter thought, but only briefly. He didn’t care to let the thought take root. Now wasn’t the time for musing and reveries. Now he had a council to convince.
“So,” Donald said heavily, leaning back, “the vow is broken.”
Hunter inclined his head. “It is. But I broke half of it five years ago, when me daughter was conceived. I didnae ken it at the time.”
Peter threw up his hands. “Me Laird, ye are an oathbreaker. This is serious. No man can lead a clan while being an oathbreaker!”
As expected, that comment stirred a thunderous response.
Donald leaped to his feet, jabbing a finger at Peter. “How dare ye! What are ye implying, man? That the Laird should step down? Would ye keep an oath better?”
“Daenae challenge him,” snapped a weaselly man, every bit as bald as Peter. “As if ye had the right to say what’s good for us. Ye and yer vixen daughters have the clan’s balls in a vice-like grip with yer fabric business.”
“What a strange way of saying that ye cannae compete with me prices, Edward.”
Hunter sank down into his seat, letting the chaos unfold.
Some men shouted, gesturing wildly. Somebody dropped their wine goblet, and red liquid spilled across the table, soaking some papers. Another man grabbed the collar of the one beside him and began to shake him, hollering with fury, and he had to be hauled away by Donald.
When it became clear that the racket was going to go on for a while, Hunter leaned forward and slammed his fist down on the table with an echoing crack.
“Enough!” he thundered. “Be silent, all of ye! Jabbering like mad chickens. Clawing at each other. Fighting. We havenae met here today to air our grievances against each other. We are here to decide whether or nae I am fit to remain the Laird of Clan MacCrimmon.”
Silence fell at once. A dozen pairs of eyes swiveled to him. A dozen and one, counting Magnus. Not many guards were kept inside the council chambers, on account of the sensitive matters discussed. In fact, the only one that Hunter trusted was Magnus.
He leaned back again once he was sure the councilmen’s attention was focused on him.
“Oh, aye. I ken all about yer secret discussions,” he said heavily. “Ye discuss whether I should keep me title or nae. This is the matter we’re discussing today, nae whether or nae I have broken me vow. I freely admit that I have, even though I didnae realize it.”
“It’s only half broken,” spoke up a thin, pale fellow who looked no more than thirty, the youngest councilman out of them all.
He glanced uncertainly around at the others.
“Broken by accident, when the child was sired. And since the Laird didnae ken, we could argue that it was barely broken at all. And he never failed us in any way, did he? Never made us feel as if his attention was divided. If he doesnae marry the woman, then perhaps we could say the vow is only half broken.”
Hunter drummed his fingers on the table. They were all looking at him again, waiting, Magnus included.
If I refuse to marry Daphne, the business might stop here.
“The child may nae be yers,” Peter ventured, frowning. “After all, a woman who lies with one man will quite easily lie with another, so it’s likely that—”
Boom.
Hunter brought his closed fist down on the table once more, making all the papers and goblets jump in the air. The councilmen jumped too. The milksop flinched, squeaking, and Peter paled, his jaw closing tight.
Slowly, Hunter uncurled his fist and straightened his aching fingers.
“The next man to suggest such a thing about Lady Daphne must be prepared for the consequences,” he murmured, his tone light and conversational.
“I willnae hear her name spoken of in such a way. There are nay aspersions to be cast on Willow’s parentage.
I claim her. She is mine, and that’s the end of it. ”
“He’s right,” Donald mumbled. “The wee girl is almost his spitting image.”
Peter’s face darkened. “So ye maintain that ye broke yer vow, me Laird?”
Hunter rose abruptly to his feet and was faintly gratified to see him flinch.
“We are going round in circles,” he said heavily.
“Ye all ken the vow is broken. Half broken,” he added, seeing the milksop open his mouth to speak again.
“But it will be fully broken in two days’ time, when I marry Lady Daphne. ”
“That is the honorable thing to do,” Donald conceded in a low voice.
A few nods of agreement followed.
“Aye,” Hunter continued, slowly circling the table, “I admit me fault. Oathbreaker is nay light word. I have served this clan to the best of me ability for years. Ye all ken this. I kept me vow. I made the vow in the first place to show all of ye and the rest of me people that ye are me first priority. Ye think that’ll change with a wife and child?
It willnae. I am a laird, nae a tyrant. Nay English king am I. ”
That elicited a ripple of laughter. Not everybody laughed, of course. Peter remained stony-faced, as did Edward. But Hunter continued speaking, circling the table still.
“I have done everything for this clan. Shed blood, both me own and others’. Blood, sweat, tears—everything. I will continue to do so. And I want ye to think of something.”
The councilmen glanced expectantly at each other. Some frowned, some sat back and folded their arms, some sat forward and licked their lips.
“Would any of ye have done differently?” Hunter asked lightly. “For the past five years, with me vow unknowingly broken, did I change? Nay, ye all ken I didnae. I am committed to me duties as Laird. Ye all ken this to be true. So, once again, I’m asking ye this.”
He circled the table once more, before coming to a stop at his chair. Leaning forward, he rested his fists on the old wood, worn smooth by time. He glanced from face to face and broke into a slow smile.
“Which of ye thinks he can do better?”
Silence greeted him.
After a long moment, he settled back down in his chair and let out a long sigh.
“The vote, then,” he decreed tiredly. “Let’s get it over with, eh?”
Donald broke the silence first. “Let’s make this quick and simple. Every man here kens what has gone on. We’ve all assessed the facts and drawn our own conclusions before we ever stepped into the room. So, who believes that Laird MacCrimmon should keep his position?”
Hands shot up. Hunter glanced around the table, a knot loosening in his chest. Donald put his hand up. So did the milksop. So did one… two… three… six more men.
A majority. An easy majority.
“And who is against?” Donald asked, to be thorough.
Nobody’s hand went up, of course. Not after the majority voted in Hunter’s favor. But the other men, the four who hadn’t voted for him, glanced uneasily at each other.
“That’s it, then,” Hunter said crisply.
He rose to his feet and smiled grimly around the table. “I’m grateful to all of ye. I am glad that some of ye support me, and I daenae resent those who daenae. I’ll prove meself to me people, daenae fear. And, of course, in the meantime, ye are all invited to me wedding.”
A ripple of nervous laughter followed.
Hunter flashed a smile and strode out of the council chambers without a backward glance. Conversation erupted at once, and he was thoroughly glad not to be part of it.
The tap on his bedroom door was so soft that at first, he didn’t think that anyone was there. Then it came again, more firmly.
He rolled off his bed. His chest was still tight. It had been hours since the council meeting, but the anxiety lingered.
The councilmen who’d turned against him would not enjoy being outvoted. They’d consider it a humiliation. And if they believed he was truly an oathbreaker, then now they would view him with skepticism.
Perhaps I deserve it. After all, I did make a vow and then break it.
He trudged over to the door—which was, of course, locked—and then paused. “Who is it?”
“It’s me,” came the soft reply.
Daphne.
The door was open before he even knew what he was doing. Sure enough, there she stood, looking very small and almost timid in a voluminous cloak. The cloak was damp at the hem, and she tugged at it with a self-conscious laugh.
“I went out for a walk while ye were in the council meeting. I couldnae… couldnae settle. But Lady Helena told me that ye arenae being asked to step down, which is good.”
“It is good.”
She breathed out, folding her hands in front of her. “But I understand it’ll make ye a bit unpopular. I’ve come to ask ye again whether it wouldnae be better for me to leave. As I said, I willnae keep Willow from ye.”
He raised an eyebrow. “After all that, ye want to cancel our betrothal and run off? Come on, lass. I daenae want ye to go.”
She nodded. “I didnae think that ye would. Well then, I’m here to tell ye that I’ll treat our marriage seriously.
For Willow. She deserves good parents. I’ll nae pressure ye to explain yer vow to me or why ye took it in the first place.
I’ve been thinking about it, and it’ll only cause conflict.
Since we’re going to marry, I want us to do it properly. ”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“But…” She held up a finger. “I have a request of me own. No more secrets. No more vows. No more hiding things. I’ll do ye the same courtesy.
There’s nothing that either of us can do about our pasts, but the future?
Well, that’s right in our hands. I want Willow to grow up in a family that values love, honesty, and justice. ”
“Spoken like a fine mother,” Hunter said softly. “Willow couldnae have had a better mother, Daphne.”
She reddened, dropping her gaze. “I sometimes feel like I’ve done everything wrong.”
“I think most parents feel that way. But together, we can do things right, aye?”
“Aye.”
She lifted her head and held out her hand, as if for a handshake. Then she gave a small, lopsided smile, a hint of sadness in it.
“For Willow?”
“For Willow,” Hunter echoed, taking her small hand in his strong one. “And now, lass, ye had better get some sleep, aye? Tomorrow, everything changes.”